


Unexpected Side Effects

by MaidenofIron157



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Drift Side Effects, Fluff, M/M, Telepathic Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-04-25 15:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14381184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaidenofIron157/pseuds/MaidenofIron157
Summary: Newton’s thoughts were there, swirling like a thick fog between his own thinner, sharper ones and making him dizzy. He couldn’t block them out, and not for lack of trying, because Newton’s ninety-fourth rendition of Queen’s “We Are The Champions” had become grating, and his one hundred and sixty-eighth almost nauseating, if he hadn’t already vomited in the last few hours, even if the first fifty-three had been forthcoming and even slightly pleasant.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi! I'm ignoring uprising in lieu of this! I like to headcanon that because newt and hermann drifted with old decommissioned frankensteined drift tech, they were left with a few side effects they weren't really prepared for. here, the kaiju/hivemind has nothing to do with it - just the old tech
> 
> this also may or may not have more chapters, but it can stand by itself and I'm proud of it so here it is. I'll update it if and when I write more ;) please enjoy!
> 
> uhh there's also some nudity but nothing naughty, hence the rating. if you think it should be upped please tell me! okay now I'm done

This wasn’t what was supposed to happen, after a drift. 

Not that Hermann, technically, should know, never having _actually_ drifted before, but he’d read more than enough reports on the subject to know what to expect: shared emotions, feeling each other’s pain, memory confusion, swapping tics, and so on, and so on, and so on. The greater the compatibility, the more side effects that could be documented and studied. 

But _this?_

He felt Newton move into his space, radiating heat and squeezing his shoulder with the hand that wasn’t occupied with a drink. A wave of reassurance passed through him at the contact that made him shiver. It was reassurance, he knew, that hadn’t come from himself. “Stop worrying so much,” is what the other man told him, from their relatively safe haven in a darker corner away from the rabble of a jubilant “we stopped the apocalypse” party, and Hermann couldn’t help but snort, even if, he knew, it was rather weak. 

“One of us has to.” Because Newton certainly wasn’t. Although, that might be because he’d already had several, ah, fairly strong beverages, and had little capacity for much besides drunken excitement, while Hermann was still nursing his now-lukewarm first glass, and was sober enough to think clearly. 

Except it wasn’t just his thoughts, now. 

_Telepathy._ Good lord. 

Newton’s thoughts were there, swirling like a thick fog between his own thinner, sharper ones and making him dizzy. He couldn’t block them out, and not for lack of trying, because Newton’s ninety-fourth rendition of Queen’s “We Are The Champions” had become grating, and his one hundred and sixty-eighth almost nauseating, if he hadn’t already vomited in the last few hours, even if the first fifty-three had been forthcoming and even slightly pleasant. The song was interspersed with other things, of course: a chorus of nothing but the awed words “we _won_ , we’re _alive_ ”, a cold subsection dedicated to thinking back on everything that could’ve gone wrong in either attempt at the drift in vivid and gruesome detail that Hermann would take the song over any day and desperately ignored, and a much warmer subsection dedicated to him, Hermann. 

Because Newton loved him. 

Was _in_ love with him. 

The same way _Hermann_ was. 

And Newton _knew_ that now. 

_Christ, this is confusing._

“Hey.” And there Newton was again, stepping in front of him and rubbing his thumb into his jacket from where it was still on his shoulder. Hermann focused on his face – on how his stubble was growing in because he hadn’t shaved for a few days, on how his hair was matted and stood on end every which way, on how his glasses were cracked and far enough down his nose to see his eyes properly. That part of Newton’s thoughts that was completely about Hermann was burning brightly in his mind’s eye, apparently now _the most important thing to think about right now, don’t creep him out you weirdo_ , and there were waves of _soothe calm it's okay I’m here you’re okay we’re okay_ pouring down his spine and almost making him stumble in place– “Breathe, Herm.” Right, breathing. Taking in oxygen, letting out carbon dioxide. He could do that. When had it started getting harder to? Well, he was fixing it right now. 

As soon as he felt like he was no longer hyperventilating, Newton chuckled, cut off and too high. “Here I am, drinking and having a good time, while you pick up the slack. If anyone should be having a panic attack here, it should be _me_.” 

After a moment or two, during which Hermann studied the red ring around Newton’s left iris, Hermann said, “Yes, probably.” Which, likely, wasn’t the most reassuring thing he could’ve said, good lord, where had _that_ come from? Hermann flinched, an apology on his tongue, but Newton just let out an amused huff. Besides, it was _true_ , wasn’t it? Why should _he_ be the only one worrying? Why should _he_ be the only one wondering about the consequences of drifting with a non-human silicon-based dead life form ten times their size, with a neural bridge made from _junk_ , no fucking less? 

“Don’t curse, it weirds me out,” Newton grumbled (a little prissily, if Hermann might add, which got him a dirty look). “And it wasn’t _junk_ , it was just–” 

“Discontinued unneeded machinery under lock and key that you ‘borrowed’; I’m aware,” Hermann deadpanned, making Newton wince and rub the back of his neck. Hermann felt simultaneously very tired and very alert, all of a sudden, too focused on Newton while also unwillingly being plunged back down into the drift after being reminded of that memory, _Newton’s memory_ – 

He was being shaken, there were light slaps being administered to his cheek, the glass in his hand was being pried away from suddenly tight fingers to be set down on the nearest table beside Newton’s own. It kicked the drift back down to below the present, for the time being, and left Hermann with one half of his face cupped in Newton’s frankly filthy hand, practically out of breath. The grip he had on his cane was tight enough to hurt, but his leg– 

His leg– 

His _leg_ – 

“Newton–” 

“I gotcha, Herms,” and he’d already been moving before Hermann had spoken, slipping an arm around his shoulders and shuffling him clumsily into his side before he could collapse. Hermann wrapped his free arm around Newton’s shoulders and hopped on his better leg to try to keep upright without overbalancing them both. “Y'know what, whaddaya say we blow this joint? I’ve had enough to drink for the both of us, I think.” 

“I _know_ ,” Hermann sniffed, allowing Newton to carefully maneuver them along the outskirts of the party _to keep you from getting bumped into, christ, now my leg hurts, you asshole_ , and Hermann just threateningly waved his cane in Newton’s direction, despite being too weak to make it do more than menacingly wiggle. 

Newton snickered as they squeezed through the doors and into the less occupied corridor beyond. Hermann shivered; the sudden drop in sound and body heat was slightly jarring. “'Menacingly wiggle’, you’re a riot,” Newton muttered, setting them on the path to their quarters. 

Hermann used his free hand to pinch Newton's neck, ignoring the indignant squawk he got in response. “We need to go to Medical.” 

That made Newton roll his eyes, even as he was obediently turning them around to go the opposite direction. It was slow going, what with Hermann’s leg being practical dead weight, Newton’s being partially intoxicated, and the occasional couple they ran into who thought they were hidden away enough to perform certain acts without being seen that Hermann would unerringly avert his eyes from and Newton would unerringly wolf-whistle at, but they got there eventually, just as Newton was losing steam and seemed to finally be coming down from the adrenaline. 

Rangers Mori and Becket were leaving just as they were arriving, looking as though they could drop into an exhausted sleep where they stood, but they both grinned at them when they saw each other. Ranger Mori even gave them a hug, tight enough to make Hermann’s back crack and make Newton squeak, before letting them go with shining eyes. She didn’t really have to say anything, her wobbly smile said enough, and they both returned it before she let herself be tugged away by Ranger Becket and they disappeared around the corner. 

The two of them wavered where they stood, slightly, Hermann having to blink away his own tears while Newton frantically swiped at his nose and face with his sleeve, and they had to shake each other free of _those thoughts, the wave of relief and regret and grief, god, so much grief_ , before staggering into the medical wing and being swept up the second someone noticed them. Hermann thought he might have heard someone shout, “ _Where_ have you _been?!_ ” but he couldn’t be sure. 

Several blood tests, brain scans, x-rays, and so on and so forth later, they were, tentatively, released. Hermann could tell they’d wanted to keep them overnight for observation – Newton especially – but the man had thrown what could only be described as a tantrum that had ended with a shrieked, “I haven’t slept in over 48 hours and if you don’t let us sleep in our own damn beds after the bullshit I’ve had to go through in the last day and a half so help me GOD–!” before Hermann had slapped a hand over his mouth and firmly said, “We will eagerly await the full results of our exams in the privacy of our own quarters, thank you very much.” Hours more had passed, and, although that time had been spent making sure they were (relatively) healthy and of sound mind and not, you know, infected with something, it was also spent coming to terms with the fact that they could _read each others’ minds now_. They also, in a somewhat poorly thought-out decision that Hermann would have vetoed immediately had he not been nearly drunk with fatigue, kept that information to themselves. The argument that resulted in said decision involved a lot of internal whining and begging and pleading on Newton’s part while they were getting MRIs, because _Hermann, if you make us stay here any longer than we absolutely have to I am going to – I don’t know – I don’t wanna hurt you but I fucking will, I will go fucking ape shit, Hermann_ , and Hermann, just to shut him up, had agreed with a terse _fine_. 

The comedown from the adrenaline, from the high of finally, finally succeeding, from having to interact with what felt like the entire Shatterdome and smiling so much his _teeth_ hurt, and _then_ from having to stay awake even longer to run the medical gauntlet before being reluctantly declared “good enough”, made Hermann only about half lucid, if he was being honest with himself, and Newton wasn’t exactly fairing much better. They made it back to Hermann’s bunk by the skin of their teeth, and _his_ was the closest. 

_Bed, bed, oh god, sleep, oh sweet merciful jesus_ , but Hermann put an end to _that_ train of thought by grabbing a fistful of Newton’s _wet sticky tacky bloody covered in what-the-fuck-ever_ jacket, ignoring the indignant, “Hey!” those thoughts conjured up in favor of vehemently saying - nay, _ordering_ , “ _Shower_.” _We are NOT getting into MY bed with that – with those – with this –_

“Alright, alright, I get it, I get it, don’t yell,” Newton whined, turning on his heel and grabbing Hermann’s hand to drag them into his washroom. 

Both of them were wildly slow at removing their clothing, and Hermann, to his embarrassment, wound up needing Newton’s help removing his socks and shoes because he simply _could not_ bend down to do so himself, but the hot water and steam did wonders, both of them moaning appreciatively under the spray. They washed their own hair, and washed each other’s fronts and backs, wondering if this would have been more _sexy arousing_ if they weren’t so bone-deep tired and literally unable to even twitch in excitement at the fact that, here they were, ten years, a drift, and a cancelled apocalypse later, naked, wet, touching each other, and just _nothing_ , nothing was happening, _I am going to fall asleep right fucking now, Herms, I swear to god if we don’t hurry up, I love the way your hands feel and this is like my first shower in three days BUT._

In response to that, Hermann shut off the water with an undignified snort. It had seeped into their bones and left them malleable and relaxed, and they blinked sleepily at each other when it turned off and they were enveloped in silence for the first time in… what felt like days. The only noise they could hear – or, rather, _feel_ – was the comforting buzz at the backs of their skulls, a combination of heavy lethargy and heady affection that made Hermann flush when he focused on it and made Newton grin sappily. They dried each other off, too, smelling of _his_ shampoo and soap, which, when he caught a strong enough whiff of it off of Newton’s hair, made a warm ball unfurl in his gut that went straight to his toes. Newton hummed in contentment at the feeling, and nuzzled under his chin, wrapped up in a towel and looking so... _happy lovely beautiful_. It was Newton’s turn to flush, this time, groaning with flattered embarrassment and hiding his burning face in Hermann’s neck, to his amusement. Newton, of course, couldn’t take _that_ lying down, and retaliated by snaking his arms around Hermann’s waist and pinching his ass, making him yelp and smack his arm as he snickered into his collarbone. 

They eventually shuffled, dry and pink and warm, back into Hermann’s bunk and into the _very_ tempting bed. Newton climbed on first, taking the side next to the wall the mattress was pressed up against and wriggling on top of the covers, invitingly opening his arms without a word or coherent thought, just a persistent, all-encompassing _warmth affection tenderness desire_ that made Hermann sigh happily when that ball in his stomach bloomed even further. He was much more careful getting into the bed after him, grimacing whenever his leg was jostled and letting Newton murmur nonsensically whenever he did to try to distract him from the pain, before finally settling down with it propped up on his body pillow and Newton pressed up behind him like a leech. 

The man in question harrumphed against the nape of his neck, nuzzling his forehead into the still-damp fuzz of hair there and, somehow, shifting closer, skin to skin from their heads to their toes. They stuck together a bit, still slightly clammy from the shower, but Hermann was already lolling off and couldn’t find it in him to care. He barely heard Newton whisper, “Call me a leech, will you…” into his neck before he finally succumbed, resting a hand on one of the arms Newton had wrapped around his chest and rubbing his thumb into the inked skin there in tandem with Newton’s own rubbing into his unmarked stomach. 

(A Mr. Tendo Choi would come in some nine hours later with a tray of bagels and coffee, having just recently woken up himself and still smarting from the hangover after last night’s party. He’d been feeling generous enough that morning, what with the end of the world being stopped and all, to assume that the two guys, the two of _his friends_ , who had helped saved the planet by sharing their brains with a goddamned monster would enjoy some breakfast in bed, but would instead still find them fast asleep and not likely to wake up any time soon, nude atop the sheets and curled together so tightly he couldn’t pry them apart with a crowbar if he tried. In lieu of attempting to wake them, he’d just left the tray on the desk chair, snuck his own bagel and coffee off of it, and, yawning, tiptoed back out.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _That started a chain that involved gathering up a few more shirts, some flannel pants, some of his thickest socks, his one pitiful pillow, and, after a two-second long internal debate, his stuffed Pikachu plushie to go along with his quilt – all chosen for Hermann's benefit, of course. Hermann would_ totally _appreciate having another pillow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> newt's pov this time! told you I was planning on writing more ;) again, if you feel like the rating should be upped, just tell me
> 
> 4/26/18: slight edits made, newt has now (slightly) cleaned the bathroom as well

When Newt woke up, it was groggily and with a grunted, "Fuck." His entire body ached to high hell and his eyes were so crusted shut that he physically could not open them until he rubbed them clean, and even then his arm felt so heavy he wound up smacking himself in the face. "Ow."

His other arm was numb and stuck under something, he found out, when he tried to sit up a little and couldn't get very far. Blinking owlishly, his eyes took their sweet old time making their way up and around the object currently keeping him trapped to find–

Oh.

Oh, yeah.

Newt blew out a breath when he recognized _Hermann_ as the thing laying on his arm, and the last few hours (wait, how long had they been asleep?) came back to him: Kaiju Brain #1, Hannibal Chau, Otachi's tongue, Otachi's _baby_ , Kaiju Brain #2, drifting with Hermann, LOCCENT...

Winning.

Everything else was kinda blurry, after that, which he could only assume was the result of a whole lotta stimuli pressing in on him all at once, the least of which being, y'know, vodka. Not that alcohol was a stimulant. _Whatever._

He gritted his teeth as he very slowly, very carefully, slid his now-prickling-a-helluva-lot-holy- _shit_ -that-hurts-ow-ow-ow arm out from under Hermann's chest. The other man was still sleeping, apparently completely unbothered by Newt stealing his arm back from under him. He was even snoring a little, not that it was particularly loud or anything. _Still super cute, though._

Once a few minutes had passed and Newt's arm was no longer burning from having the blood rush back into it (and he'd stopped biting his lip so hard it drew blood and keeping so still he barely breathed), he stretched and cracked his back so loudly he was afraid it might've woken Hermann. The guy didn't so much as twitch, though, and the way the stretch made his back feel was great, but his ribs _vehemently_ disagreed, and he doubled back over with a muffled groan as they made their displeasure known. _That's what I get for running into a car, ugh. They didn't hurt this much before I passed out, did they? Maybe I was just too wiped to notice..._ The medics'd said nothing was broken, but they _had_ strongly recommended engaging in nothing too strenuous for the foreseeable future, which covered anything from moving the equipment around in the lab to having some sweet, sweet we-saved-the-world sex. _Sigh._

Climbing off the mattress took about five minutes of lightly shushing Hermann whenever he made a noise or shifted a little, diligently working around Hermann's limbs to avoid nudging him – or worse, planting his full weight on him and waking him up – and doing his level best to try not to get distracted by the sight of Hermann's nude body that he'd been too tired to fully appreciate earlier. He succeeded eventually, only to almost immediately collapse when his knees buckled under him. He managed to catch himself on the edge of the bed, but only just, completely taken aback. His legs felt a lot weaker than they had a few seconds ago, like they hadn't moved in... _Jesus, how long was I asleep?_ This time bracing both hands on the desk Hermann kept next to his bunk, Newt levered himself up, staying totally still until his legs weren't shaking like a newborn foal's and he felt like he could actually hold himself up.

Now that he was awake and standing, he ignored his body aches and took a look around, which was, admittedly, kinda hard to do, since he'd left his (cracked, broken, probably no longer usable glasses, fuck) in Hermann's bathroom when they'd taken their shower, but still. And yeah, he had Hermann's memories of his room, sure, and some fuzzy ones from last night – early morning – however long ago it'd been, whatever – but none of that was quite the same as seeing it through his own eyes, sober and relatively well-rested. It was... surprisingly messy, actually. There weren't any dirty clothes strewn on the floor or knick-knacks taking up space on shelving and dressers like in Newt's room, but the desk was still covered in piles of paper, his shoes were lined up haphazardly in front of his open closet, his laptop was sleeping but open on the floor beside the bed, and–

There was a tray of bagels and coffee on the desk chair that _definitely_ hadn't been there when they'd passed out.

_Tendo._

His stomach growled loudly once he'd noticed there was food present, but when he stepped closer to take a whiff, he could tell that it'd been sitting for some time. The bagels were starting to get a little hard, and the coffee was stone cold. Newt couldn't help but droop sadly; while _he_ certainly wouldn't be averse to eating some not-quite-so-fresh breakfast food (lord knows he's had worse in the last few years, working here), he would... probably eat all of it, and what would Hermann be left with? Nothing, that's what. Besides, Hermann was a classy guy; he deserved a five-star meal, or at least the best the Shatterdome cafeteria could offer. He loved Tendo, but he loved Hermann more. _Sorry Tendo._ He'd find a way to make it up to him later.

Scratching the back of his head, he took a pit stop to the bathroom to relieve himself for the first time since leaving Medical and to tidy it up a bit. This involved moving their dumped clothes from the floor to the tub, placing their ID cards on the sink counter beside his ruined glasses and their shoes by the toilet, soaking a towel to mop the floor using his foot, using the same towel to wipe the gunk off of their shoes because those were their favorites, dumping that towel in with their clothes when he was done, rigorously washing his hands to get rid of the filth that had transferred over, and snatching up Hermann's cane to set back beside the bed. After _that_ was finished, he meandered over to the dresser he knew from the drift held Hermann's pajamas. Hilariously, he discovered he was totally one hundred percent right when he'd assumed that Hermann "I dress like a 90-year-old Oxford professor" Gottlieb wore those dorky pinstriped PJs to bed most of the time, oh my god, what a _nerd_. The clothes he'd worn to the Bone Slums were pretty much unsalvageable, and would probably need to be burned, if he was being honest with himself, especially after laying around for hours in their own nastiness (a moment of silence for his awesome leather jacket, may it rest in peace), and he needed to find _something_ if he wanted to get some food; he had a feeling most people wouldn't enjoy seeing a naked Newt Geiszler walking around the Shatterdome, even after he'd helped saved the world. _Lame._

In the end, he wound up clumsily pulling on one of said pairs of dorky pinstriped PJ bottoms that stretched around his wider middle and slipping his bare feet into a pair of Hermann's equally dorky slippers (although they _did_ keep his toes nice and toasty) before, as quietly as possible, opening the door, stepping into the corridor, and closing it behind him. He went shirtless because there was no way in hell he was wearing the matching button-up top to go with the pants in public any time soon, and because Hermann had started shivering when Newt had started to tug on the robe he'd found to replace it. He had _graciously_ forfeited said robe in favor of laying it over Hermann, making sure he was completely covered and no longer shivering, before departing with a kiss to his temple. _If someone wants to give me shit for walking around tits-out after I had to see Reyes and Iri fucking in the hallway with my own two eyeballs, I'm gonna fucking riot._

Hermann's bunk was apparently a lot warmer than the rest of the Shatterdome, though, because Newt started rubbing his arms and chattering his teeth the second he closed the door. _Tits-out was a bad idea, oh god, abort, abort._ But hey, that wasn't a problem – he would just stop back at his quarters for a shirt before heading to the mess. No sweat!

Okay, there might have, possibly, maybe, been a little bit of sweat.

After pulling on a hoodie and wincing at the way his shoulders and ribs screamed at him about it, _and_ after shoving his spare glasses on his face so hard they dug into the bridge of his nose and made him suck his teeth, he was struck with the brilliant, magnificent, superb, fucking _genius_ idea of bringing some of his shit back to Hermann's place. His favorite quilt, the one he'd had since he was a kid and that his dad had sent to him a few years back, was first on the list; it was super thick and cozy and warm and Hermann, with his shitty circulation and ice cold feet, would definitely get more use out of it than he would. (He would also look super fucking cute with it tucked up to his chin, a mental image that had absolutely no bearing whatsoever on his decision to bring it back to Hermann's room.) That started a chain that involved gathering up a few more shirts, some flannel pants, some of his thickest socks, his one pitiful pillow, and, after a two-second long internal debate, his stuffed Pikachu plushie to go along with his quilt – all chosen for Hermann's benefit, of course. Hermann would _totally_ appreciate having another pillow. By the time he'd collected everything he needed (or, convinced himself he needed), he wound up having to bring all of it back to Hermann's quarters because his arms were full, before _finally_ making his way to the mess to get some grub... which is _what he'd left to do in the first place_. (Hermann, somehow, continued to sleep through Newt shuffling inside, dropping everything on the floor, and tip-toeing back out with nothing more than a short cough. The guy was nothing short of an enigma.)

Getting food was a lot easier to handle, seeing as it was apparently the middle of the night and the cafeteria was, therefore, absolutely deserted. (This observation led to him being slightly bitter at the fact that he'd bothered to put on clothes at all, since clearly no one's _delicate sensibilities_ were going to be tested seeing as he was the only one awake, before remembering that it was, y'know, _cold_ , and just forgetting about it.) Even the chefs were nowhere to be seen, so Newt was able to sneak back behind the line and scoop some almost-room-temperature-but-not-quite-there-yet chicken noodle soup into two bowls and place them on a tray with two bottles of juice (grape and orange, for him and Hermann, respectively) without anyone moderating how much he could take. He even gave his more noodles and Hermann's more carrots, and indulged in _four whole_ chocolate chip cookies, just because he could. _God, if this is what being a super cool rebel punk rock star has come down to, measuring out you and your boyfriend-drift partner-lab mate-whatever's very late dinner and very early breakfast to your own preferences because no one can stop you because it’s the middle of the goddamn night and everyone else is probably sleeping off canceling the apocalypse the way you should be... I don't know, man._

He was fading fast on his way back to Hermann's place. His body was still healing, and it did _not_ want to be awake this long, especially walking around, especially without eating something. Once he'd kicked the door shut behind him, set the tray on Hermann's desk, not giving a good goddamn about the papers strewn under it, and moved the tray Tendo had left them to the floor, he collapsed in the recently-freed desk chair and let out a groan. He just sat there for a few minutes, waiting for his body to stop throbbing, before dragging himself up and rolling the chair over to gently but consistently shake Hermann's arm to wake him up. "C'mon, Herms," he said through a yawn, "We both need to eat something; who _knows_ how long we've been out."

Hermann furrowed his eyebrows and tried to hide his face in his body pillow and grumbled cutely under his breath, but Newt never stopped shaking his arm, so he eventually had to shove at his hand and rub at his eyes with a scowl. "For God's sake, Newton," he muttered, rolling very carefully onto his back. They both winced at the shock of pain that hurtled through his bad leg, burning from his knee to his pelvis, and Newt fumbled blindly in one of the desk drawers for Hermann's pain meds. _All that running and stressing and running some more, no wonder it feels like shit. Christ._

Hermann huffed through gritted teeth, forehead starting to sweat from the pain, while Newt passed him two of the pills. He heard him dry swallow them while he was turning to grab his orange juice, and sighed, knowing from experience that that was not a fun feeling. He turned back and cracked open the bottle to hand to him, giving him a look over the tops of his glasses that told him in no uncertain terms to _take at least two sips, dude, c'mon, you know that's not good for you._ Hermann made a face at him, curled his lips and bared his teeth to show his displeasure – at Newt, at the taste of the meds, at his own leg, who knew – but he took the bottle and brought it to his lips with little fuss. Rubbing his own thigh to try to dispel the pain and getting to his feet, he heard Hermann think at him, disgruntled, _as if you're in any position to critique me about it, I've worked with you for ten years and seen you do it yourself, you hypocrite_ , but he knew he was still drinking some of his juice, so Newt just rolled his eyes and started digging through the pile of stuff he'd dropped off earlier, making sure to bend at the knees instead of the waist to keep his ribs from acting up any further than they already were. After finding what he was looking for, he helped Hermann slowly, very slowly, excruciatingly slowly, shift up the mattress and lean forward, both of them hissing whenever his leg was jostled, so that Newt could tuck his pillow under Hermann's back against the one that was already there and he could settle back into them. Eying Hermann critically, he deemed him at a good enough angle to eat the soup at without spilling it everywhere, and nodded to himself before going back to puttering through his stuff, this time in search of his quilt.

He could feel Hermann's eyes on him the same way he could feel confusion that wasn't his own seeping through his thoughts when Hermann noticed for the first time that there was a heap of various paraphernalia in the middle of his room that did not, in fact, belong to him. "Newton, _what_." He didn't have to say anything else.

Newt grabbed his quilt and shook it out before dramatically whishing it up with a flourish and letting it gently float down to cover Hermann from the waist down. It was only after he did so, admiring his handiwork with his hands on his hips, that he remembered Hermann's robe had still been covering him up to that point, and was now, uselessly, trapped under the quilt. "Shit."

Hermann chuckled, at this, because Hermann was a cruel mistress and took every opportunity he could to make fun of him, and waved Newt off when he went to take the quilt off again. "Don't, I'll get it; just get the tray and get back in here." _Your quilt is lovely, but I'm still cold and you owe me body heat,_ Newt heard in his head, which he couldn't help but laugh at. He traded the tray for the robe once Hermann managed to slip it out from under the quilt, and put a knee on the bed to start climbing on after hanging it back on its hook before he considered the fact that hey, he'd brought a bunch of clothes over, too – he should _totally_ get Hermann all bundled up before they ate!

"What? Newton, no–" But Newt was already back at the pile (really, just the best idea he's had in the last few hours, for sure), rummaging through it once again until he came up with his favorite Green Day shirt and a pair of his thickest socks, which just-so-happened to have a sushi pattern printed on them. He neglected grabbing a pair of pants because Hermann already had the quilt, and because his leg was really not up for Newt trying to tug pants on over it right now. 

_Then_ he climbed back on the bed, handing Hermann the shirt to put on and folding the quilt up to reveal Hermann's bare feet. 

"You can't honestly expect me to wear this," Hermann said flatly, even as he was letting Newt pull one of the socks onto the foot that was connected to his good leg. 

"Uh, I absolutely can," Newt said, patting the top of the sock-covered foot before very, very cautiously starting on the other. "You're an ice cube, dude, and I know I'm a pretty sweet personal heater, but layering up is _always_ a good idea. Plus, what if someone comes in and there you are, nips out and everything? That collarbone is fucking delectable, man, I don't want anyone else seeing it." By the end of the sentence, Newt was clenching his jaw and Hermann had his eyes squeezed shut as his foot was lifted off the bed so Newt could roll the sock up over his ankle and smooth it over his calf, but it was over soon enough, and both of them let out a sigh of relief when it was. Newt folded the quilt back down over Hermann's newly-socked feet and shifted to kick off the slippers he still had on before crawling up and around and, mindful of the tray in Hermann's lap, flopping down next to him. The new position, unfortunately, came with a choked sound at the pain that pulsed through his chest when his back hit the bed. Staring at the ceiling as he caught his breath, he could see Hermann out of the corner of his eye giving him that _look_ , the one that said like ten things at once, the most prominent being resignation, and said, a little stiffly, "Seriously, you'll be thanking me later." 

Hermann scoffed, but started tugging the shirt on anyway while Newt kept a grip on the tray to keep it from tipping. "Who is going to come walking into my room with no notice?" 

"Tendo," Newt said, catching Hermann's eye once his head had popped through the collar to let him know he wasn't joking. "He left a tray of bagels and coffee for us, but it had to've been hours ago by now, 'cause it's definitely going stale. Or at least, I _think_ it was Tendo; who else would leave us bagels and coffee? You know those're his favorite." 

He watched Hermann's face go from its usual pale pallor to a healthy flush, and barked out a laugh. It was as cute as it was funny; it's been a few years since he's seen Hermann blush. "Then he saw us–" 

"Naked-spooning? Yeah, but if anyone had to walk in on us like that, I'm kinda glad it was Tendo," Newt said, trying to keep his eyes on Hermann's face and not on his neck and clavicle, which suddenly looked a lot more appetizing framed by Newt's own too-big shirt and pink with embarrassment. It wasn't working well. The shirt was slipping off his shoulder. _Oh god._

"Newton." 

"Hm?" Newt looked back up, only to find Hermann with totally adorable bedhead that he hadn't noticed before and _goddammit_ , he was so, so screwed. He'd been totally fine for the last few minutes! Why was Hermann being so distracting _now?_ Had Newt always been this head-over-heels? Or had the drift just exacerbated it, now that he knew it was mutual? Was it because he was in Hermann's bed, and Hermann was wearing his clothes? Had he always wanted to kiss every laugh line and early wrinkle on Hermann's face? Wrap him up in a blanket cocoon and protect him from the bullshit of the outside world for as long as he could? Cuddle with him for all eternity, or at least until he had to go to the bathroom? Had he– 

" _Newton._ " 

Newt blinked and blushed furiously as he was pulled from his thoughts, coughing awkwardly and reaching for his own bowl of soup to occupy himself, trying not to look at Hermann and failing miserably. The man was doing what could only be described as _beaming_ , and it made him look positively _radiant_ , even with – or maybe in tandem with – his own darkening blush (no doubt because of what Newt had been thinking, dammit, could he try and _not_ project his gross lovey-dovey bullshit into the void, Hermann could _hear_ him now, Christ). "C'mon, we gotta eat before it gets any colder," he muttered, pointedly slurping his first spoonful to get Hermann to scowl at the noise so he wouldn't keep being distracted by his beautiful, perfect smile. _God, I am so whipped._ ( _That_ made Hermann hum happily into his own spoonful, and Newt smirked to himself.) 

As it was, they _did_ finish their meals, so that was good. Or rather, Newt finished three-quarters of his and only one cookie before his stomach told him to stop or regret it, which, what the hell? Had it _not_ growled super loudly at him earlier? He guesses it had something to do with all the... medical, neurological bullshit going on with his body right now, but really, that was just _pathetic_. Hermann finished practically all of his soup and most of his juice (whereas Newt hadn't even opened his), but didn't even touch the cookies, because by the time he was wrapping up with the soup he was fading, fast. Like, starting-to-doze-into-his-bowl fast. It was kinda cute, and Newt had been expecting it, because Hermann's meds always knocked him clean out when he didn't have tea with them (something he didn't need the drift to know), but he still had to shake him awake when he started lilting to the side with a full spoon still in his hand and tell him to put the tray on the floor so they wouldn't kick it and spill anything later. After that, it was just a matter of Newt taking his spares off and throwing them onto his pile of stuff for the morning, stealing his pillow back so Hermann would be laying at a more appropriate angle to sleep at, and wriggling under the quilt so he could snuggle up on him. 

Both of their heads were heavy with each other's exhaustion – still, from before, and from the pain, of Hermann's leg and his ribs, and from full stomachs, and from the honey-like affection oozing warmly through their thoughts, and all Newt had to do was rest his forehead against Hermann's shoulder and throw an arm around his middle and he was out like a light, Hermann already snoring softly above him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Just as he was debating whether he should climb back in bed and rest some more or get dressed and finally start on what had to be a_ mountain _of reports waiting to be filed and data to be combed through, someone knocked on his door. The sound rattled his teeth, but, more than that,_ he wasn't decent _. Newton's shirt swamped him, true, but it would be_ wildly _inappropriate, not to mention completely humiliating and utterly unprofessional, to let anyone see him like this - particularly when the only things he had on were some truly hideous socks and_ Newton's shirt!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back to hermann! gets a little suggestive at the end but again, nothing happening yet. tell me if you want the rating upped!

Hermann woke up to an insistent pressure in his bladder that refused to be ignored no matter how hard he kept his eyes squeezed shut. He’d been so comfortable, and now, it was ruined. Sighing, he lifted a hand to rub at his eyes and used the other to try to pry himself free of his bed partner. Newton was clinging to his chest, and whining pitifully to boot, and any other time Hermann would have been reasonably tempted to just stay in bed for the foreseeable future, but today he just shushed him and skillfully squirmed out of his grip to perch on the edge of the bed and wait for the stars to fade from his vision. Newton immediately latched onto his pillow in his stead, burying his face in it and curling up into a ball in the center of the mattress under the quilt he had brought in earlier. It was adorable, but really – he needed to get up.

While his medication had done its job and his leg no longer felt as if it had been shattered into thousands of pieces, the pain had been replaced with an almost-numb sensation that left it feeling more like a dead weight than a limb. This always happened when he fell asleep right after taking it, so he knew it would alleviate itself within an hour at the most. The return of feeling would, unfortunately, also mean the return of pain, so he would eventually have to take another dose - and make sure he had enough caffeine to overwhelm the drowsiness that always followed, this time. As it was, he just wound up having to stay close to the wall and lean much harder on his cane than usual to shuffle into the bathroom. (And when had his cane moved from there to beside the bed, precisely where he could reach it when he eventually woke up? Likely when Newton had been puttering around earlier; he’d have to thank him. Although, he could say with certainty that the pile of clothing and – was that a _stuffed Pikachu?_ – would _not_ be staying where it was, he would make sure of _that_.)

It took several minutes to reach the bathroom, partially due to his greater reliance on his cane, partially because of the general feeling of weakness in his body, partially because every step exacerbated the discomfort in his abdomen. The good news was the bathroom had clearly been tidied up before he got there, as there were no clothes on the floor the way they’d left them whenever it had been that they’d taken their shower, so there was nothing impeding his path to the toilet. He took a better look around when he’d finally relieved himself and washed his hands, noting that the floor had even been mopped – haphazardly, true, but mopped nonetheless. Their clothing was… _marinating_ in the tub, which Hermann couldn’t help but wince at, just then noticing the smell coming off of them and plugging his nose. That had been his favorite sweater vest… oh, well. Their shoes were sitting near the toilet and were at least salvageable, so he slowly, carefully bent to grab them and exited the washroom to toss them in the general direction of the rest of his shoes.

Just as he was debating whether he should climb back in bed and rest some more or get dressed and finally start on what had to be a _mountain_ of reports waiting to be filed and data to be combed through, someone knocked on his door. The sound rattled his teeth, but, more than that, _he wasn't decent_. Newton's shirt swamped him, true, but it would be _wildly_ inappropriate, not to mention completely humiliating and utterly unprofessional, to let anyone see him like this - particularly when the only things he had on were some truly hideous socks and _Newton's shirt!_ "Don't come in!" he barked, moving stiffly to his dresser in search of some undergarments and hoping that whoever was at the door had some semblance of propriety. He was reminded of Newton's earlier comment about Tendo having apparently barged in to leave them food, and moved faster, in case he'd returned to do a follow-up.

"Dr. Gottlieb?"

He blinked, raising his head from his task to send an incredulous look to the door. "Ranger Becket?" What was _he_ doing here? The two of them had barely shared more than ten words to each other since the day he'd arrived.

"Yeah," said the voice in the corridor, "The Marshal sent me to tell you we're finally having the debrief he's been putting off. It's mandatory you attend."

Ah. That made much more sense. "Very well," Hermann said, "Tell him myself and Dr. Geiszler will be there in ten minutes."

"No problem. Everyone's in Conference Room 3." And that was the end of that.

Hermann sighed, slumping slightly. Well, that certainly settled whether or not he was going to be able to slack off the rest of the day, but _now_ he needed to undertake the massive task of waking Newton up and making him look presentable. He paused for a moment or two, before stepping forward, snatching up the stuffed Pikachu up off of the pile of Newton's things, and throwing it as hard as he could at Newton's head.

The man didn't so much as twitch, just shifted to lump the Pikachu in with Hermann's pillow against his chest and went back to sleep.

Hermann sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose; it was going to be a long day.

\--

In those ten minutes, Hermann managed to freshen himself up and dress in the loosest day clothing he owned, as he still didn’t quite feel at one hundred percent – or, what passed for one hundred percent when it came to him. Newton assured him he looked fine about twenty times, but wearing only a sweater and no button-up or jacket still made him feel a little off. He had also managed to wake Newton up and get him to brush his teeth, comb his hair, and put on something vaguely professional. He couldn’t convince him to wear actual trousers, as he refused to go back to his quarters to find some and claimed Hermann’s were “ _way_ too stuffy for me to be seen in public in, oh my god”, so he wound up heading to the meeting wearing one of Hermann’s button-ups under, again, one of Hermann’s sweaters (black instead of Hermann’s navy blue, chosen because Newton was apparently terrified of it being cold outside and being caught unawares, _again_ , according to him) and a pair of his own red flannel pajama pants taken from the pile, which meant that they were semi-clean, at least. This look was combined with his untied boots and spare glasses, which had been broken in two at some point and were held together with masking tape, something Hermann hadn't noticed when they'd eaten earlier and was hiding a smile about now, even while Newton scowled about it. It made him look utterly atrocious, frankly, but at least he had clothes on at _all_. Hermann had no doubt that Newton would have left the room to attend the meeting _naked_ if it meant he could get it to end sooner.

“You fuckin’ know it,” Newton deadpanned, making him roll his eyes. They were nearly at Conference Room 3, by now, and Newton had been complaining about what was really important here for as long as they’d been walking, gesticulating energetically with the hand that wasn’t holding onto Hermann’s elbow. “And I’m not _complaining_ , I am airing some _legitimate grievances_ –”

“Just admit that you’d wanted to stay in bed the rest of the day and let that be the end of it,” Hermann said, knocking on the door they had to enter as soon as they reached it.

“Oh, don’t act like you’re so above it all, Mr. If I Had The Chance I Would’ve Done All My Work From My Laptop,” Newton replied, sticking his tongue out at him as the door opened on Tendo Choi’s face. He looked fairly grim, but spared a genuine smile for them nonetheless.

“Hey, nice of you two lovebirds to finally show up,” he said, suggestively waggling his eyebrows. Newton groaned and pushed past Tendo into the room, Hermann flushing indignantly as he followed him inside.

“Save the theatrics for when we do more than pass out after taking a shower, thanks,” he blithely commented.

“Dr. Geiszler!” _Tendo is not the only colleague present and I would appreciate it if you didn’t broadcast personal matters to the room at large, thank you!_ That earned him an apologetic glance as Newton took the seat beside Ranger Mori and moved to swing his feet onto the table. Still irritated (and trying to ignore how hot his face was, especially after hearing Tendo snicker as he closed the door and seeing the knowing looks Ranger Mori and Marshal Hansen exchanged), Hermann roughly pushed his feet off the table with his cane, huffing at the shout he got for his trouble as he took his own seat on Newton’s other side.

Now that he was settled and pointedly ignoring Newton while he pouted and slouched in his chair, he took a moment to look around the circular table. Ranger Mori – _y'know you can call her Mako, right? She doesn’t mind_ – _Ranger Mori’s_ other side was occupied by Ranger Becket, with Marshal Hansen – _oh my god, just call him Herc you nerd_ – taking up the “head”, as it were, and Tendo pulling out the sole empty chair left between them to claim as his own.

There was also several steaming cups of coffee and a plate of doughnuts in the center of the table that had clearly already been picked from, and that Newton was now also picking from, stealing two chocolate-with-glazes for himself and grabbing a napkin to put a raspberry jam-filled one on before passing that one to him. It was very considerate, and made him feel a bit better about what Newton had said earlier, but he really wasn’t hungry, even if he needed to eat something with his medication if he wanted to take it without vomiting. He could already feel the prickles of numbness fading from his thigh.

Newton sent him a look, making sure to finish chewing and swallowing before speaking _because I know that pisses you off_. “You gotta eat _something_ , Hermann.”

Just as he was opening his mouth to argue, Marshal Hansen said, sounding resigned, “You might as well; god knows we’re gonna be here the whole damn day as it is.”

He was, unfortunately, correct. The debrief covered everything from Newton stealing (" _Borrowing!_ " the man in question made sure to specify at every opportunity) discontinued drift tech to the moment Ranger Mori and Ranger Becket were recovered from their escape pods. And he does mean _everything_. So much so that, by the time it was all, finally, blessedly, said and done, the sun had gone down and everyone at the table was ready to call it. Newton was even nodding off in his chair, only waking up when Hermann elbowed him, and Tendo was blinking much slower than usual. Everyone was too burnt out to be solemn, however. Having to relive the almost-end of the world was... draining.

"You're tellin' me," Newton muttered, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes with both fists, as if that would wake him up. "Shut up," he followed it up with, no heat in his voice, using one of his hands to lightly slap Hermann's arm.

This exchange was met with exasperated looks courtesy of Tendo and Ranger Mori before Marshal Hansen pointedly cleared his throat. "Medical wanted me to tell you all to report there for a follow-up before heading back to your quarters," he said, addressing everyone but himself and Tendo, to their vocal dissatisfaction. "For _some_ reason, they never received a response to the exam results they e-mailed you." At that, they all bashfully avoided eye contact when he tried to hold it. Tendo snickered. "I told them it was because you were all fucking exhausted, but they wouldn't hear it. So you're dismissed."

Newton, valiantly, was able to hold in his pitiful whine until they were in the hallway, slouching almost in half and dragging his feet. Hermann just rolled his eyes and placed a hand on his arm to push him sideways, watching as he squeaked and flailed to catch himself before he overbalanced and fell on his face. His expression betrayed nothing when Newton whirled back around to glare at him. "Awake now?"

"That was so _not cool_ -"

" _Let's just get this over with_ ," Ranger Mori cut in, having exited at the same time as them with Ranger Becket and seen everything.

"Yes, _mom_ ," Newton muttered, grunting when Hermann grabbed his elbow and started in the direction of the medical bay.

The follow-up was what could be expected - namely, telling the medics that yes, they were fine, apologies for not acknowledging the exam results, they had apparently been passed out for almost _twenty-five hours straight_. That was... more than a little surprising, but apparently not that worrying to Medical, considering they had "special circumstances" stamped in their records more than once. The hemorrhaging in their left eyes had gone down significantly, though they still felt sore and puffy; Newton's ribs were healing the way they should be, though the man still felt personally slighted when the medics stressed keeping it light for a while; Hermann's leg was none the worse for wear, though still inflamed from _running_ on it; and so on. They took more brain scans, partially to make sure nothing had changed since their last visit, partially to make sure the link to the hive mind really was null and void, because _lord knows_ they couldn't trust _their_ word on it. ("We _told_ you it was severed when the breach closed, what more do you want? A _polygraph?_ " Newton demanded of them, and Hermann couldn't help but snort; I mean, he knew the ins and outs of the PPDC security protocols as well as they did, but _really_.)

The fact remained, however, that they had each other's thoughts in their heads, and that, obviously, led to some inconsistencies in their scans due to the increased brain activity. Hermann no longer had each and every one of Newton's trains of thought running through his own and clogging everything up the way they had been right after the drift, but observations, emotions, and pointed thoughts to one another could still be heard with little to no effort. Somehow, _somehow_ , the medics chalked that activity up to the drift - the faulty tech they'd used, having sustained a three-way neural bridge with a mostly-dead baby kaiju, either one - and let them go. Hermann supposed they were just too busy (and too ready to move on) to look into it any further, but he still found it rather unprofessional. After all, what if it _had_ been something more? In fact, what if the scans _were_ showing something to worry about, and not just that they had some strange version of two-person telepathy in place? What if the link _was_ still open, just dormant? Were they posing a risk to their safety, to _everyone's_ safety, keeping that information to themselves? _Why were they keeping it a secret in the first place-?_

"Hermann." He felt Newton's hand close around the one that wasn't occupied with his cane and squeeze, and he blinked, realizing they'd reached the entrance to the cafeteria without him noticing. He looked over to find Newton rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses, and they settled crooked on his nose when his hand fell back to his side. He looked incredibly worn out. "Can we _not_ worry about this right now? Like, can it wait? 'Til like... tomorrow, or something? Neither of us croaked in our sleep so we're probably not gonna anytime soon, and I'm tired and hungry and I can feel your meds starting to wear off and _please_."

"Alright, alright," Hermann said softly, using the hold Newton had on his hand to tug them past the threshold and into the cafeteria. It was late enough that it wasn't packed, but still relatively crowded, meaning he had to make an effort to move the both of them along without nudging anyone. "You don't have to beg, Newton. I don't particularly want to be worrying about it either."

"Yeah, I know," Newton said, getting into line behind him. "Just... I wanna wait, a little, to have my complete mental breakdown, y'know? It hasn't even been a week yet; I gotta have it at the right time, for optimum coverage."

Hermann shook his head as he got them in line. "You are _not_ going to have a complete mental breakdown, Newton." When he, inevitably, opened his mouth to argue, Hermann continued, "A sustained panic attack, perhaps, but I'm not exactly expecting you to go catatonic. If you were, you would have already."

Newton twisted his lips, and slid his hand out of Hermann's to grab two trays and start shoveling food onto them. "Whatever," he muttered, but he could feel the tiny _thank you_ of gratitude whether Newton wanted him to or not, and it made his lips twitch.

They finished their meals in the canteen sluggishly, but in record time, as both of their limbs felt incredibly heavy but their desire to crawl back in bed as soon as possible felt heavier. They had to hold each other up on their way to Hermann's quarters, because their feet simply would not stop dragging.

Opening the door led to Hermann, suddenly, the moment his eyes landed on it, remembering that there was a mess in the middle of his room that the debrief had made them put off, and he was unable to prevent the disappointed whimper from escaping his throat at the sight. Now he had to clean _that_ up; he couldn't just _leave_ it there like that all night...

"Uh, yes, yes you can," Newton said, shutting the door behind them and kicking his boots off while Hermann stood there slumped in defeat. "It's one night, Hermann; you can shuffle and reorganize and god knows what else to your heart's content tomorrow, when you're not literally swaying on your feet."

Hermann, realizing he was, indeed, literally swaying on his feet, forced himself to balance and stand still. He could still feel his legs shaking. "Newton, you _know_ how I don't like mess-"

"You're right, I do know," Newton said, gradually pulling the sweater up over his head with a sustained grimace of _fuck fuck ow ribs ow jesus ow_ and folding it as soon as it was off, _the way Hermann folded his clothes_. Blinking, Newton looked at the now-folded sweater, said "huh" in surprise, then shrugged and plopped it on the empty desk chair to start unbuttoning the button-up. "Anyway, as I was saying, I know how you are about that kind of stuff, but we just saved the world-"

"You can't use that as an excuse-"

" _We just saved the world_ , and you're _allowed to relax_. The weight of the world is no longer on your shoulders, Atlas. Unwind, take a load off, chill the fuck out, whatever you wanna call it, we're gonna do it, right now."

Newton concluded his sentence by unthinkingly folding the button-up the same way he had the sweater and placing it on top of it. Hermann bit his lip, looking between the pile of Newton's belongings and the trays of unfinished food that were starting to fester and needed to be taken care of and... "We were in bed for almost _twenty-five hours_." And yet he still felt exhausted.

"And we're gonna be in bed for eight more, Hermann. Sleep: we need it. Priorities. Rest. Now. Please?" _I'm selfish and tired and you know proving you wrong is the highlight of my day but I really really REALLY wanna cuddle._

Hermann, in response, smiled slightly, keeping his eyes on Newton's face to avoid staring at his bare chest, which was... quite distracting. Newton, unfortunately, _heard_ that, as he smirked widely, bat his eyelashes, and set his hands on his hips to further show it off. Hermann pursed his lips and huffed, ignoring the heat rising in his face. "Fine," he grumbled, maneuvering slowly around the clothing pile while Newton scooped up the trays to set one on top of the other on the desk out of the way. He winced every time his aching leg moved the wrong way, but he was able to sit on the edge of the bed without a problem, toeing off his shoes. "But I will take immense pleasure in making _you_ do the cleaning in the morning."

A spark of outrage erupted in his mind's eye, and Newton instinctively opened his mouth to argue as he stepped over in front of him, but _those are YOUR clothes and if I have my way they're either going in a trash bag or back in your quarters_ , and he shut it again. Smiling innocently, ignoring Newton's rolled eyes and the, "Well... _you're dumb_ " that he tried to make a worthwhile retort (that got him another indignant noise), he let him remove his belt while he removed his own sweater. "Anyone ever tell you you have a lot of sweaters?" Newton said through a yawn, straightening up to deposit the belt on Hermann's dresser while he started shimmying his trousers off, clenching his jaw when his hip protested.

"I can think of a certain biologist that I'm rather unfortunately fond of who has brought it up once or twice," Hermann mused, muffling his own yawn in his fist and shifting so Newton could pull them completely off of his feet without irritating his leg too much.

At his words, a burst of affection blossomed at the base of his skull that made him hum pleasantly and his eyelids dip, and Newton surged up to press a dry kiss to his brow before his trousers were folded and deposited along with his sweater on Newton's borrowed clothing. Hermann was left in the garish socks Newton had outfitted him in last night, as well as the band shirt that had accompanied them (that he had used as an undershirt for the day), and his underwear, _and you look gorgeous, Herms_.

Tamping down an embarrassed smile, Hermann leant his cane against the wall, swinging his legs up onto the bed and motioning for Newton to join him, which he did with a groaned, "Finally!" They settled in under the sheets and the quilt Newton had brought from his quarters, Hermann taking the side closest to the wall, this time. They snuggled face to face as they got comfortable - Hermann's leg hitched up over Newton's hip in lieu of his body pillow, and Newton's arms coming to wrap around his waist. Newton was radiating warmth like a furnace, and Hermann couldn't stop himself from tracing the lines of ink on his upper arms, letting the other man tuck his head under his chin and only wrinkling his nose a little at the way his hair tickled his skin. He felt Newton's fingers toy with the hem of his shirt, raking it up just enough to let him clasp his hands together at the small of his back. He gently played with the soft hair there, teasingly tracing the top of his underwear, just barely skimming his fingers under the waistband and making Hermann shiver. _Two can play at that game_ , and he got a cut-off, if still quietly sleepy, groan from Newton before moving his own hands. One he drew up and down his back, digging in whatever bit-down nails he had to bring forth goosebumps and get him a full-body shudder. The other reached up and around to start carding through Newton's hair _because I know your scalp is sensitive and you like having it pulled._

"Fuck," Newton whispered, pulling him closer, _actively keeping myself from fondling your ass through your briefs, Hermann, your killin' me here, we're both WAY too wiped for this, look, we're not even hard_ , and he was right, of course; their shared touches were certainly erotic, but, much like before, they simply didn't have the energy to do anything about their arousal but let it simmer under their skin. Instead of waking them up, it brought them down, and they peacefully dozed for what felt like hours before they finally drifted off to sleep, curled so tightly together it was a wonder they didn't get stuck that way.


End file.
